Rubbing Shoulders
by Delta 9
Summary: A chance encounter in the hallways of Arkham evolves in to a date. Throughout the evening Bruce gets a insight on the politics, the patients and the doctor called Harleen Quinzel.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am making no profit from this.

Authors note: So this is a bit of a spin-off from my other story _The Death Of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, _it has some tie in's with it but you don't have to read it. In it I mentioned Bruce Wayne went on a date with Harleen back when she was the Joker's psychiatrist, Originally planned to be a one shot but I am a wind bag and didn't want to you to have to scroll forever, your welcome.

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><p>A sharp snap interrupted Dr. Arkham and drew Bruce's attention away from the senior administrator and to the source of the noise. He analyzed the situation out of habit.<p>

It came from young woman, judging from the pitch of the snap and the position of her hands, she had probably slammed down her clipboard on the counter. She looked frustrated but she pushed that aside and offered everyone that she had disrupted an apologetic look. Bruce had not seen her in the room a moment ago and from her location she must have come in from one of the adjoining rooms.

"Is there a problem, Dr. Quinzel?" asked Dr. Arkham.

"Now that I'm out here, no" answered Dr. Quinzel irritably.

Her blue eyes met Bruce's for a second with surprise before she shyly dropped them back to her clipboard.

"You'll have to excuse Dr. Quinzel, she has a very difficult patient" apologized Dr. Arkham.

Bruce saw Dr. Quinzel clearly mouth _understatement._

Dr. Leland excused herself from the asylum welcoming committee to go over to her agitated colleague.

Dr. Arkham picked up where he had left out about the goals of Arkham asylum. Bruce feigned interest, a highly practiced skill of his. He was really listening to the conversation between Leland and Quinzel.

"I wanted to smack that Glasgow grin right off his face, but I can't, because he wants me to hit him. Right from day one that's been his mission"

_Glasgow grin? _Bruce thought. They could not be talking about _him_. He must have heard wrong. They could not be talking about the Joker.

Before Bruce could get confirmation on what difficult patient they were or were not talking about he was whisked away from the conversation when Dr. Arkham suggested that they start the tour.

As they walked through the halls, he tried to recall the name of the Arkham psychiatrist that had been in the news a month ago. Bruce knew the story had included the Joker but since the story did not include escapes, he hadn't paid any attention to it.

Was it Quinzel? Was the controversy that she was – well - so young? Bruce should be one of the last people to judge based on appearances but there was something to be said about age and experience.

The tour included all wards of the asylum even maximum security, which Bruce hadn't expected to see and was glad he got the chance.

Maximum security was in the best shape compared to the other wards and rightfully so with the patients it housed.

_There's still room for improvement_, Bruce thought as he scrutinized every detail and flaw.

So when all was said and done Bruce wrote a hefty cheque to Arkham asylum.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne" said Dr. Arkham, not totally surprised but still grateful.

_Beep, beep, beep._

"I assure you the money will be put to good use," said Dr. Arkham, ignoring what Bruce assumed was Dr. Arkham's pager. Hopefully go to fixing up maximum security.

_Beep, beep, beep._

Dr. Arkham pulled his glasses down from the bridge of his nose and looked at the LCD screen over top of them.

"I am so sorry Mr. Wayne, but I really need to see to this. I'll find someone to escort you out"

Dr. Arkham looked down the long hall way but they were the only two around.

"No need, I have taken enough of your time. Thanks for letting me come by." Bruce said, shaking Dr. Arkham's hand once more. He pointed over his shoulder "Its this way, right?"

"No thank you for your generous donation. Yes, then hang one right at the second hallway, then another right and the elevator will spit you out right out at the front entrance."

Dr. Arkham disappeared in to his office and Bruce walked on down the hallway.

A yard or so later, Bruce was sure he had screwed up somewhere and had followed the directions wrong. He tried to retrace his footsteps but ended far from where he started in a hallway flanked by metal doors, some of the faces behind them peered out at him; some curiously, some with a more sinister look and some stared out their doors but weren't seeing him or anything else.

"I know you're trying Harleen, but maybe he is too much for you."

The way these halls echoed there was no way to know how far away

Bruce stopped short of rounding a corner.

"No, that's not it. Everyone else has had the same problem. We can't treat the Joker conventionally. If you try to run any sort of standardized test on him, he knows exactly what you're up to and he gets insulted and defensive."

"Well, Dr. Arkham thinks that you will be able to get something so he is going to keep pushing you."

"What do you think?"

"I think its time to try hypnosis"

There was short feminine laughter.

"Have a good night, Joan"

Heels click clacking along came his way. The same blue eyes from earlier rounded the corner, as their owner nearly ran in to him.

"Oh sorry" she said. Her expression said more to the effect of _what are you doing here?_

"No it's my fault." Bruce smiled. Not just to be charming but also because there was a plan forming in the back of his mind. This was perfect timing. "I'm actually sort of lost"

"That's what I figured. Come on I'll lead you out," said, if he had heard correctly, Harleen.

"Thanks" said Bruce bashfully.

"No problem. If I let you wander around here forever, you'd have to be admitted and I'd end up treating you. Nothing against you but I have enough on my plate already."

" Yeah, I kinda saw that earlier and um…" was there a way to admit he heard her conversation without also admitting to eavesdropping.

"No doubt heard too, despite Dr. Arkham's continuing efforts." She rolled her eyes and there was some definite bitterness in her voice. "I'm Harleen, by the way"

She offered her hand, her left hand to be precise. Bruce took it. No wedding ring. The potential to get his foot in the door was there.

"Bruce."

She smiled and nodded but did not say I know the way most people did.

He followed her. Nothing ever became familiar because everything looked the same as when he was lost.

"How long have you worked here?" he asked.

"Only eight months. For the first two weeks I couldn't find my office. I would end up doing my work at the front desks and reception rather then have to ask someone where my office was."

Bruce chuckled.

_And when did the Joker become your patient? _Bruce thought. He could not help being curious about this doctor and he had plenty of other questions.

"The elevator's just up ahead, I don't trust it but I'm sure its sound." Said Harleen as she opened the door to the stairwell.

They were up on the fifth floor so Bruce wondered if she was trying to get away from him. If that was the case his plan could end up being a humbling experience.

"I try to use the stairs when I can, it's a good work out."

Harleen's eyes scanned him. Clearly checking him out. Maybe she was interested.

The pair walked down into the front lobby. It was now or never.

"Guess I sort of owe you my mental state. " said Bruce. "Can I take you out to dinner sometime?"

"Oh ah- yes I'd love to" said Harleen taken back but her face had light up. She had a very engaging smile.

"Well?" Bruce prompted for more details.

"I'm free tonight."

"So right now?"

"Yeah, let's go." She nodded confidently, pushing the door open.

They walked out the front doors and around the side of the asylum to the parking lot.

"Anywhere you want to go?"

"Surprise me." Said Harleen cheekily.

"I was hoping you'd say that. " Bruce gave her a playful grin. "I got a hellavu surprise."

"In that case I think I need to change, I should have something in here."

Harleen wasn't under dressed, perhaps a bit too professional for a dinner date but she would be fine for where they were going. Bruce would bet his trust fund that telling her that wouldn't keep her from changing.

She opened the trunk of an emerald Lancer. Harleen didn't have something in her trunk, she had some things.

"This happen often?" joked Bruce

"Oh all the time. You billionaires never give me a moment to myself." Responded Harleen flippantly. " You can't control what happens in a day but you can be prepared."

"Wise words."

She settled on a small black cocktail dress with diamond sash and dainty bow.

Being the gentleman that he was, Bruce leaned up against the backseat window while Harleen changed.

"We can take my car." Bruce led the way over to his red Ferrari Spider.

"Whoa, this is beautiful. " exclaimed Harleen. She circled it, admiring every inch "2007?"

"No it's one of the brand new eights."

Harleen flipped out her cell phone. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

A fake camera snap sounded as she took a quick picture.

"Here, I'll take your picture if you want." He offered.

She handed over her phone and posed almost coyly by the Ferrari; turning her head slightly, looking at the prancing horse crest with a small smile on her lips.

"Oh this is so going to be my wallpaper," said Harleen when she saw the picture.

"Were you a car model once? Bruce flirted.

She blushed a little before retorting.

"Easy now, I should remind you that I study people's minds for a living. And I am good at my job."


	2. Chapter 2

He navigated the Spyder through the streets to the edge of downtown, eventually pulling into the valet bend outside the Victorian grandeur of the Sleeping Fox.

After Bruce handed the keys and a very healthy tip to the valet, he offered his arm to Harleen, he was surprised she hadn't taken it when she had stepped out of the car. She was too busying gaping wide eyed at stone laced walkway up to the sweeping arches of the over lording structure to notice the gesture. He brushed up against her and gave her a discreet nudge with his elbow; once Bruce had her attention he offered his arm again. A pink hue colored her cheeks as she looped her arm through his.

Although he knew next to nothing about the woman on his arm, from her change as the confidence she had first displayed, it was clear that she was out of her element, completely unfamiliar with the world that Bruce came from and because of that this young doctor would be different from any woman he had taken out before.

Harleen and him walked up the stairs and through the dark mahogany doors into the golden-lit lobby of the posh establishment on the other side. The host standing behind the desk began tapping the hidden computer screen with a troubled look on his face when he caught sight of them.

"I'm terribly sorry there will be at least a hour wait, it you want to leave your number and go-" the host began to say.

"Good evening, Mister Wayne" greeted the Maitre D, Pierre rushing over. He too tapped sporadically at the screen. "Where would you and this lovely woman like to sit this evening?"

Bruce looked over at Harleen, her eyes went even wider then they had been before.

Bruce may not be a psychiatrist but he could read people too. He remembered how rejuvenated she looked when the sun first hit her face as they walked out of the asylum.

"Do you have anything out on the balcony?" he asked, turning back to Pierre.

"For you, of course we do. It is a beautiful night. Just wait here for a moment."

Pierre rushed off to no doubt do some juggling or set up a table just for them.

The other patrons, fellow members of the trust fund brigade, in the restaurant had begun to stare at the new arrivals. Bruce being accustomed to this, wouldn't have even noticed if Harleen did not shift in his arms as she ran her hands down her cocktail dress, brushing away dirt that wasn't there.

The gentlemen were probably thinking _there is Bruce Wayne with another P.Y.T._

The ladies were thinking the same thing with the added judgment of what Harleen was wearing. In comparison to their evening attire, especially Bruce's Armani suit Harleen's cocktail dress looked lackluster, sad and cheap.

"I'm sorry" Bruce whispered in her ear. "I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look."

"You didn't forget." She whispered back, smiling.

"Oh back in the parking lot, no I was just wondering about your previous line of work." He said.

Pierre came back and escorted them to their table. As they worked their way around the bustling restaurant, Bruce gladly noted that Harleen was holding her head up high.

Her eyes got caught on a large chandelier. The crystal reflection sewed pieces of light into her already electric blue eyes. Bruce was so bewitched by the sight of the light up orbs; he almost didn't notice the harried waiter with a cart full of dirty dishes on a collision course with them. Almost didn't notice.

He pulled Harleen out of the way in the nick of time and with such sudden force to cause her to wobble on her heels. Bruce didn't have time to move completely out of the way himself and the cart clipped his hip.

The waiter and Pierre both looked absolutely horrified, they breathed easier when Bruce laughed it off.

"That was very heroic," said Harleen.

"Ah, what can I say?" he shrugged it off with fake, charming modesty.

Their table was located at the end of the balcony, providing them with a front row view to the street below and beyond, to all the small splatters colors in up kept gardens on the boulevards, to all the bouquets with their best affects teasing in the window, and to the greenery of the trees and the soft lilac banners fixed on to polish black streetlamps. The only thing that was higher then they were, was the sun, yet only for a while longer, it began to dust the ground with rays that preceded a sunset.

"Oh wow." Exclaimed Harleen breathlessly, looking over the edge of the frosted glass railing. "Its so beautiful."

"It is." Bruce agreed in the same stunned matter.

He was being sincere. Surprisingly Bruce found the sight not just beautiful but divine. It looked too perfect to be tangible; it was hard for him to believe that such scenery existed in this world, especially in Gotham, in Bruce's Gotham. Spending so much of his time in the criminal underworld and his reason for that, Bruce saw gruesome things and it had taken an unknown toll on him. It had hardened him in such a way that he had been blinded to the simplest alluring sights.

Being here with her, with someone who was as awestruck as Harleen was contagious.

They exchanged smiles. She was thanking him for bringing her here. He was thanking her for what he could see.

"May I bring you something to drink?" asked the waiter, handing them each a black leather-bound menu with a gold outline of the namesake, a sleeping fox. "Our Merlot is exquisite."

Hands down, this was Bruce's least favorable part of any date, ordering some sort of alcoholic beverage and having to find some way to dispose of it slowly. It was an annoying hassle.

"I'll just have a Shirley Temple," said Harleen, Bruce breathed an inward sigh of relief. The waiter gave her strange look before jotting it down.

"That sounds good. I'll have the same." The waiter gave Bruce an even stranger look.

"Bruce, you don't-" Harleen started.

"No, truth be told I wasn't in the mood anyway." He said, letting on more then anyone would ever know.

"I'm sorry." She apologized anyway. "With the way Thursdays normally are, I really don't want to have even the slightest hangover. And Merlot is my kryptonite, believe me, you do not want me to start drinking it."

"What so wrong with Thursdays?"

"You know it's the end of the work week. I have bunch of reports due on top of normal paperwork to get finished up. Plus I have to do my job and have sessions with my patients tomorrow." Said Harleen.

Bruce nodded understandably.

"How many patients do you have?"

"Three, which doesn't sound like lot but Mallory is enough work for two patients and the Joker's like having three so I am kept-"

"_Masquerading as a man with a reason. My charade is the event of the season." _

A melody interrupted her. Harleen bite her lip and pulled the source of the noise, her cell phone, out of her purse.

"Geez, it's the asylum. I have to take it." Said Harleen, once again needlessly apologetically.

"_On a stormy sea of moving emotion. Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean." _

She stood up and looked around for a place to go to. Getting more flustered as the song carried on.

"Harleen, take your call." Bruce gestured to the seat she just vacated.

"Doctor Quinzel." She answered. "Don't worry about it…oh no, is he alright…absolutely…has she said anything…nothing that a makes lick of sense huh? See if anyone is around to talk to her…Joan or Camille but if neither of them are still there, then Hugo, she finds him oddly comforting. If none of them are available she'll be fine, just keep her up there and somewhere quiet….perfect, thanks Christa…give me a call if there are any further problems…bye now."

She snapped the phone shut and deposited it back in the side pocket of her purse.

"I'm guessing you were going to say that your trio keeps you pretty busy."

"Yep. Insanity is a twenty-four seven problem. I never really get to clock out." Said Harleen. "It can be really stressful and you have to throw all of yourself into it but I absolutely love it so its all worth it."

Their waiter came back with their non-alcoholic, innocuous beverages.

Bruce took a sip as soon as the glass hit the table, without mixing it up first. The delightful tartness of it made it an exceptionally long sip.

"I haven't had one of these since I was little kid." Explained Bruce, to an amused Harleen.

"Are you ready to order?" asked the waiter.

The answer to that question was a negative. Since they had sat down they had spent so much time talking that they hadn't even cracked open the menus. Bruce had been here enough to already know what he wanted, Harleen would need to look at the menu though

"We need a few more minutes." Said Bruce.

The waiter nodded.

"By all means take your time," he said lowly when he turned away. Only Bruce heard him.

"I don't think he loves his job." Said Bruce, once the waiter was out of earshot.

"Serving is a hard job." Harleen said turning the page past the salads, Bruce took an educated guess that she would be ordering a sandwich and/or soup then. "I was a bar maid when I was in college. The pay was all right, enough for my needs but some nights I felt I was being severely underpaid for what I had to deal with. "

"Sometimes though it was like a prep class for psych. Naturally I enjoyed that part of the job. My manager would get mad at me for talking too much with the customers." She added studying the pasta page of her menu.

"Is that what made you decide to be a psychiatrist?" asked Bruce.

"No. Bruce I was already in college, pay attention." She answered, than flashed a _just kidding _smile at his alarm. "There was never a specific instance in my life that made me want to be psychiatrist. Reaching out to people was always my calling."

Harleen looked far off as she said that, perhaps. Bruce got deep into thinking about his own calling. How it made him feel and how it drove him. How it made him feel like he was doing something right and yet at times it was his biggest regret. He knew she was driven but did she ever have regrets. He wanted badly to ask to alleviate some of the weight pressing down on him.

As always though, his burden was one he kept to himself.

"Are we ready to order now?" the waiter snuck up on them, making them both jump a little.

"Can I get this spicy linguine without the salmon?" asked Harleen.

"Yes you can."

"Then I will have that then. Thank you."

Linguine. Bruce never would have guessed.

"I'll have the Salisbury with the baked potato as a side."

They handed over their menus.

"Can I interest you two in some fresh garlic bread as a appetizer, it will be on the house."

Harleen nodded when Bruce asked her silently.

"Yes that would be great. And can I get a refill please."

Bruce had already finished his Shirley Temple.

"Of course, will that be all?"

He nodded, dismissing their server.

"Do you know if there is some place to have a smoke? I am long overdue." Asked Harleen.

"Yes. Here I'll take you"

Bruce pushed back his chair with a grating noise. He held out his hand to Harleen who took it in her own warm hand and lead her down the balcony stairs to one of the designated smoking areas. It was set up like a little garden and there was no one else there. For Harleen's sake, Bruce was happy about that. He hadn't noticed until tonight how harsh some people could be. One would have to be inhumanly confident or completely oblivious to the world not to be self-conscious.

She brushed away some dirt on a brick ledge before taking a seat; strangely enough there wasn't any chairs. He sat down next to her.

"You don't smoke, do you?" asked Harleen.

"No."

"Smart. I wish I never started."

She shielded the flame from her zippo lighter. Bruce couldn't make out the design on it; her fingers hid part of it.

Once her cigarette was light she held it up for him to see. It was a shaped blot.

"What do you see?" she asked.

"A bat." He answered instantly and without thinking.

It was a Rorschach inkblot, it dawned on him after and she was a psychiatrist. There was some insight into his mind with his answer.

Harleen blew out some smoke, her expression giving nothing away about what he just revealed. Keeping him in stitches. A smile eventually peaked through.

"You can relax, that's a normal answer." She giggled. Guess his unease showed. "Though normally people say butterfly, or moth. I've only heard one other person say bat."

"Who?" He asked curiously.

"The Joker." She stated.

Bruce felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

_To them you're just a freak. Like me._

Echoed, correction screamed in his mind.

There was no hidden connection between them. Batman was nothing like the clown.

"I'm kidding. Bruce. I am sorry." Said Harleen, Bruce gave her a look of total disbelief and shock. "I really really am. It was just too tempting. "

"So bat is a normal answer?"

"Yes and as common as any."

He could tell she was telling the truth, still didn't completely shake his troubled thoughts. They had been rooming in his head since the interrogation room, so it wasn't really Harleen's fault. He had never had such distressing thoughts on a date though and that was sort of her fault.

He shook his head, pretending to be relieved.

"You made me think I was…" he couldn't think of something to describe accurately the Joker.

"Disturbed and deranged beyond human comprehension." Harleen finished for him.

Her explanation was lacked a little but it was the closest thing Bruce had heard.

"Well yeah"

She laughed a little, now that Bruce had shook it off as far she knew.

"I know it wasn't nice was it?" she laughed. "Karma will get me back though, he'll do something to scare the bejeezus out of me tomorrow."

"Good," Bruce said jokingly.

She patted his shoulder

"I'm also sorry if this smoke is bothering you." She futilely waved at a small cloud. "I've heard how obnoxious it is to non-smokers. The Joker told me I smelled like a two-cent whore once and refused to talk to me that day. The cruel irony of the situation was that I was having a rough day and I had a smoke beforehand so I would calm enough to talk to him."

"Gotta love that irony. But I don't think you smell like a two-cent whore." He said as flirtatiously as one was able to say that statement.

"Thank you. But you probably haven't had much experience with two-cent whores."

"Nope nope, definitely not." He shook his head.

"Glad to hear that. I told the Joker that whores were not something he should be cheaping out on."

"And what did he say?" asked Bruce incredulously.

"Nothing. Gave me almost that same look of shock that's on your face."

The burning embers burned down the cigarette like a backwards progress bar as she took another drag, she blew the smoke over her shoulder, away from Bruce. The smoke wasn't bothering Bruce, he was use to being around people who smoked, one lit cigarette hardly registered as a annoyance when you've been in area with ten or more. And they wouldn't direct their smoke away from him most times. He was getting thirsty, thinking about the Shirley Temple waiting at the table wasn't helping.

"Bruce" exclaimed a women's voice shrilly.

"Veronica, " he greeted, the elderly lady hugged him briefly, then he shook her husband's hand. "Hey Arthur. How are the dealerships?"

"Business is booming. Bruce, as always."

"Harleen, this is Mister and Missus Fitzpatrick." Bruce introduced them to his date. "Arthur, Veronica. This is Doctor Harleen Quinzel."

The couple shook her hand. Bruce could see on Veronica's face that she was trying to figure out if she had ever seen her before.

"A doctor? Where do you work? Over on at the new hospital on eighteenth?" questioned Arthur.

"No, I'm a psychiatrist over at Arkham." Explained Harleen.

"Oh, I know where I've seen you now. You did an interview on channel five with Mike Engel." Veronica said. Bruce wished that he had paid better attention to the news stories, he'd have to look them up when he got home.

"Are you still the Joker's psychiatrist?"

"Yes I am, seeing him first thing tomorrow morning." She answered proudly.

That was probably the main reason Harleen didn't want to go into work hung over.

"You are a brave soul taking on that man's case." Said Veronica.

"A very brave soul." Agreed Arthur. "That sicko should've gotten the death penalty."

Those blue eyes of Harleen that had been delightfully taking in everything, froze over. She opened her mouth slightly but shut it with a purse of her lips.

"Mentally unfit to stand to trial." Grumbled Arthur. "Isn't that all the criminals excuse these days"

"I do agree with you that in some cases the insanity plea is misused excuse. I can assure you that in the Joker's case it was the right decision to institutionalize him." Harleen spoke up, she tapped off the excess ashes with her index finger.

"Who made that decision? The same man who appointed Jonathan Crane, who made mockery of the courts with the same insanity plea that got the Joker off the hook."

"Actually it wasn't just Doctor Jeremiah Arkham. Doctor Howard Briggs and Doctor Sheldon Kames, both revered psychiatrist in criminal studies did the Joker's mental examination was in-depth, and at times ruthless and all their results came to the same conclusion. That he is mentally ill. " Said Harleen, underlying message being _what are your qualifications?_

Veronica looked at a loss, glancing from her husband to Harleen and then to Bruce, wanting him to say something to end it. Bruce rubbed his neck uncomfortably. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't back up Harleen when he agreed strongly with half of Arthur's stance. The Joker should have had a trial.

"Legally insane or not, his crimes were inexcusable" Arthur puffed up his chest. "He should have been put on the stand and then before a firing squad. There are too many psychopaths in the world because the justice system makes allowances for them."

"If we don't make these allowances, it is slippery slope to disposing of others deemed invalid." Harleen finished off her smoke and squished the smoldering butt in sand in the provided ashtray. "What would that say about us? That a life is only valuable as long as it functions in our norms."

Both sides had a point. Bruce had heard both sides before. Arthur sounded like Ra's. Harleen, even though she was defending the Joker, was similar to his own. That everyone deserved a fair chance.

They went back up to their table without any parting words to the Fitzpatrick's. The free garlic toast was waiting for them in a wicker basket and Bruce's Shirley Temple but before he sat down, he paused to survey the view.

The sun had descended a bit more. The light was no longer gold but a pale yellow on a canvas of orange and pink. It had been a long time since he hadn't seen such vibrant colors.

They didn't register with Harleen. She just ripped apart a piece of toast.

"Everyone thinks that the insanity plea is a way of escaping punishment. Its not. Once you've been declared mentally unfit to stand trial, you really don't have any say in your own life anymore." She stated somberly. "But I'm not going to talk about that anymore or I'll bum us both out."

She looked up at him, regaining her cheery composure.

"Its your turn. Tell me about Bruce Wayne."

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><p>Authors Note: Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving.<p>

A special thank you to XSmileForMeX , who was my first reviewer on this story.

A very special thank you to SmilinForYa who has given awesome feedback for all my stories on here. Her story Nice To Meet You is one of my favorite stories on here and I absolutely had to allude to in this one, when Harleen said she was a bar maid in college. I strongly encourage you all to go read about who she encountered one night at the bar.

Next time we will learn about something Bruce has never told anyone, other then his being Batman.

Last thing - Name that tune challenge (Harleen's ringtone.)

-Delta9

P.S WHO SAW THE DARK KNIGHT RISES TEASER TRAILER!


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